


The Tale of the Knight of the Swan

by BelovedCreation



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-24 22:01:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4936939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelovedCreation/pseuds/BelovedCreation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A birthday gift for mryddinwilt, a continuation of our collaborative speculation fic Le Morte D'Savior. Emma sets out on a quest with Killian and Percival.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tale of the Knight of the Swan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MryddinWilt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MryddinWilt/gifts).



> Since my co-author had no actual say in this fic, you can only consider it half-canon for the universe, but I hope she will forgive my impetuousness <3

If you had told Emma Swan, back when she was a little girl who would read and re-read Harry Potter books under her covers, flashlight illuminating pages of beautiful prose and quirky illustrations on chapter headings, craving a magical world to come out of the woodworks and tell  _her_ that she was special, she had a destiny, and she was important, that one day she would be in Camelot, being taught magic by  _Merlin himself_ , she would have punched you in the face for making fun of her.

This guy is like her own personal Dumbledore. But that  _sacrificing herself for others_  thing is safely, firmly, in the past.

She hopes.

Magic is different now, with her Savior magic defeated in the battle against the Darkness inside of her. Before, it lived within her, a part of her breathing and her emotions and what it meant to be Emma Swan - even if she didn’t know it before it let loose in a showdown against Cora. Using her magic was as easy as humming a well-known tune or making macaroni and cheese. But with that gift gone, all the magic has to go through a conduit before she can shape it for her own uses. The magic doesn’t live inside of her, it lives in the air of Camelot, thick and heavy and electrifying. She draws it in with a flicker of her fingers and the whisper of ancient words that trip clumsily off of her tongue, and then she exhales and the magic is released and used to manipulate the things around her.

“Quite good,” Merlin mutters from behind her, having watched her set two dozen tops spinning on a string suspended in the air. Half are going clockwise and half counter-clockwise. “Quite good indeed.”

Emma nods, inhales, and as she exhales the string slowly floats down to the ground and the tops scatter across the stone floor. She steps forward and bends down to pick them up, but before she can gather a single one, they float up again and place themselves in a perfect line on a bookshelf in Merlin’s study.

“Not to worry, Your Highness. I am more than happy to clean up.” He offers her his arm and, as she’s learned in the last two weeks of residency in Camelot, she places her hand in the crook of his elbow and allows the wizard to escort her out of the room and down the hallway.

“You have any idea what’s for dinner tonight?” Emma asks, shooting for a nonchalance that’s canceled out by her stomach growling and the sound echoing through the stone corridor. Practicing magic really takes it out on you, okay? Her face warms and she makes one more play for subtlety, sniffing the air and hoping she smells anything but-

“Potatoes. We both know potatoes and dried meats filled the larder before the battle at Camlan.”

“Ugh.” Emma sighs and slouches a bit against Merlin, the high waistline and thick fabrics of Camelot’s dresses supremely forgiving on all sorts of postures. “What I wouldn’t give for a good grilled cheese. And some onion rings.”

“Creation of portals is another few years away, Miss Swan,” Merlin replies, and when Emma glances over his eyes are doing those mysterious sparkling thing that says there is more to what he is saying than what he is letting on. “So if you are wanting to return to Storybrooke for dinner I am afraid you shall go hungry.”

Emma snorts and straightens up. “I’d believe you if you weren’t creating portals left and right to bring my mom and Regina here for a visit and sending them back again with David and Henry.” The ball to celebrate the defeat of the Dark One had been a literal dream come true. Glittering gowns and delicious foods and a night of twirling on the dance floor with some of her favorite people in the world. But the days after, when Emma had realized the best food had all been used on the party and the rations left over were mostly tasteless, Emma had started to crave the food at home just as much as she missed the four who had departed as well.

“Swan!” Twin grins greet them at the doors to the dining room, although only one pair of bright blue eyes makes her heart beat a little faster. Killian steps away from his father’s side to drop a kiss on her cheek and smoothly take her from Merlin’s arm. “How was training today, love?”

“Exhausting.”

“She is progressing nicely.” Merlin flicks his wrist and the great double doors open. Queen Guinevere is already seated at the head of the table. There’s a permanent furrow in her brow and Emma only sometimes catches glimpses of the worry smoothed away, usually when observing her and Killian or laughing with one of the knights. All the knights of Killian’s bedtime stories are seated on either side of the Queen, and they rise gracefully as one when she enters the room and they seat themselves down again after she has first.

As if it has all been choreographed, servants appear through a door on the side of the room and circle the table to place bowls down in front of each person.

Dandelion salad. Again.

Emma digs in with veracity, trying to use her damn imagination to pretend the salad is anything more than wilted leaves and browning flowers drizzled with bitter vinegar. The frown on her face draws Percival's attention and he gives her a patented look of Jones Amusement before spearing a flower on his own fork and popping it into his mouth.

“I’m not exactly a farming expert, Merlin, but shouldn’t a crop of  _something_ be coming in soon?” Emma grumbles around a mouth full of sliminess.

“Not until the curse on the land is lifted, dear.” The wizard murmurs it with nonchalance, but his simple words quiet the gentle conversation around the table and all eyes are drawn to him.

“Curse?”

Guinevere’s voice echoes off the walls and Emma can feel her own breath catch in her throat. Aren’t all the curses over with?

“The land is cursed, Your Majesty.” Merlin dabs at the corner of his mouth with a napkin and looks at his sovereign mildly. “Your husband loves Camelot so deeply and so intimately that his injury is causing the land itself to weep for him. Nothing will grow or flourish until Arthur is healed. If allowed to go on for some time, you will see that no children will be born either, so powerful is this bond.”

“No- no children?” Guinevere clasps her stomach and Emma wonders if she and Arthur, like David and Mary Margaret, were thinking of having a do-over baby after their first kid didn’t turn out as expected.

“Not to worry, Your Majesty.” Merlin sets his napkin back in his lap and picks up his fork again. “I shall be sending Percival on a quest to find a solution tomorrow. In the meantime-” the servants file into the room, laden down with plates of mashed potatoes, “-we have plenty more in the larder to get us through.”

Emma groans and, if she isn’t mistaken, Guinevere does too.

* * *

 

After the miserable meal is over, Emma and Killian exchange looks across the table from one another and find their hands clasped and their feet guiding them toward the courtyard garden, where night-blooming jasmine has been the perfume to their evening strolls for the last week.

“How was your lesson today, Emma? Truly?” Killian’s hand squeezes her own and in the dark she can just make out the flash of white teeth as he gives her an encouraging smile.

“Merlin’s a better teacher than Regina,” Emma deadpans, and the smile grows wider. “He’s a little more patient. But maybe it helps that there’s no major crisis where my magic is needed.” Strong arms wrap around her waist and Emma finds herself being turned on the spot and plopped on Killian’s lap, who has sat down suddenly on a garden bench. She gasps in surprise.

“Oh how I adore the lack of a crisis.” And then Killian’s mouth his pressing against her own and her heart is beating for all sorts of new reasons, adrenaline and desire coursing through her veins until her head is light and her fingers tingle. Kissing him is magic, it really is, and if she were to mutter a weird Latin-sounding word against the fire of his lips, butterflies would appear in the air and their fluttering wings would cool off her red cheeks.  She groans a little bit and considers trying it out when his hand tugs at her curls but then someone clears their throat behind her and Emma and Killian pull apart in shock.

Emma almost falls off of his lap as she turns, saved only by Killian’s fast reflexes, hook digging into her side.

“Son.”

If her face was hot before, its  _glowing_ now, and she wriggles to slide off of Killian’s very inviting lap and onto the bench beside him.

“Father.” Killian clears his throat and sits up straighter. Emma has to clasp a hand across her mouth at the awkward look on his face. Turnabout is fair play, and it is about time that his dad caught the two of them all wrapped up in one another. Her embarrassment is fading away into amusement.

Percival clears his throat too, and the way he’s pursing his lips makes him look at a loss for words. “I am not sure how couples conduct themselves in the world where Emma grow up, but here in Camelot men and women are a bit more… discreet about their affection. Perhaps you two should retire to your quarters for the evening?”

Killian stands up like a shot, a chastised little boy, and Emma mirrors him, trying to hold back her laughter. “Yes, Father. I understand.”

Percival nods. “Good form, lad. A knight’s foremost concern is to uphold the honor and dignity of women.”

Emma is about to break in about how she’s never been too concerned about her honor or dignity, what with having a kid while a teenager in prison and all that, but Killian’s shoulders slump a little and he responds before she can. “I believe you forget that I am not a knight, Father.”

“Not  _yet_.” Percival claps him on the shoulder and that same flash of white teeth sparkles in the moonlight. “But perhaps when the three of us return with the cure for Arthur’s wounds, you shall be knighted.”

“Wait, three?” Emma finally interjects and two sets of blue eyes turn to her, almost like they’ve forgotten she was there in the first place. She’d be more annoyed if she weren’t so happy for Killian and his father’s mushy gushy reconciliation.

One hand still on his son’s shoulder, Percival places his free one on Emma’s. Its adorably paternal. “Merlin says you are to join us, Emma. He has confidence in your magical skills and he suspects that trial by fire might aid you in your progress.”

“Fire?” Emma gulps. “Not literal fire though, right?”

Both of the men exchange glances. “No, my dear, not literal fire.” Percival gives them both stern looks and removes his hands. “But I wouldn’t stay up too late this evening, you two. We are to depart at sunrise.”

And Emma would have  _totally_ followed that advice if not for a very special and particular skillset that Killian Jones likes to employ to keep her from falling asleep.

For a man with only one hand, he sure is  _handsy_.

* * *

 

They leave at sunrise, just like Percival told them, and even though Emma’s got a serious case of bedhead and sand in her eyes, her horse can follow the two men well enough for her to half-doze most of the morning. They stop for lunch at a pond to water the horses and gnaw on dried meat and dried fruit that seems like the stuff even a gas station wouldn’t sell.

“So where are we going?” Emma asks the knight, washing down their gross meal with a cupped hand of water from the pond.

“The wizard has directed me toward Old King Bron. Legend has it he suffers from a deadly wound as well, but he had been sustained by some magic or another for nearly a century before the land was frozen. Merlin believes that we may find the key at his castle and we can find a way to persuade him to share or sell his secret.”

Killian grins, something familiar and sly that wraps around her stomach and makes it clench in excitement. “And if His Majesty will not be persuaded to part with this magic, I know a few tricks-”

“No.” Percival’s look could cut through diamonds. “We do this the honorable way, son. Like knights.”

His shoulders slump a little bit and he nods. “Aye, Father.”

The rest of the day’s journey is filled with a tension that makes Emma feel antsy. Seems like she’s not the only one with do-gooder parents.

* * *

 

The next day the air has cleared considerably and Emma asks Percival to tell her some stories of Camelot before curses and Darkness made everything get so messed up. Some of the tales had spilled over into her world, and she remembers them as plots of TV movies and cartoons. Others are strange or different or very much altered from how she thought they would be. In particular, that Mordred was Arthur and Guinevere’s son, and he himself was a product of True Love. Must have been a burden to have parents with an epic love and a plan for how his life was supposed to be carried out. For the first time, Emma has sympathy for the man. In another world, she could have ended up just the same. Who knows what growing up in the Enchanted Forest would have been like?

Emma reciprocates with stories of her own childhood and what her world is like. Percival seems as dumbfounded as his son had been at the thought of planes, television, and dresses that show ankles. He’s full of questions, inquisitive and fascinated, and even Killian joins in with laughter to answer him. The day passes with a plethora of smiles and there’s a way that Emma’s heart is being squeezed by her affection not only for Killian, but for his father. It is clear that this man helped make Killian into the man she loves.

As the sun begins to dip below the horizon, they exit a patch of trees and are met with a huge, crumbling castle surrounded by a moat. It is large, and should have been spotted from a distance. Emma can feel her spine tingle with unease, and her companions must feel it too, because their hands both instinctively go to the hilt of their swords. Emma echoes their motions and tries desperately to remember some of the defensive spells Merlin taught her.

“Good day, gentle sirs and lovely lady!”

Their necks all whip to their right, where a man is lounging in a small rowboat, a fishing pole resting lazily in his hand. He tips his chin at the three of them, the crown perched crookedly on his bald head threatening to slide right off, but remaining there all the same.

“I have not had visitors to my home in decades!” the man exclaims with delight. “Would you care to join me for dinner?” His boat floats toward the shore as if by magic - although the enchantment would have to be quite old as Emma cannot detect anything - and he lumbers onto the green grass to stand before them.

“Are you so sure this is a good idea?” Emma whispers in Percival’s direction. The knight pays her no mind.

“We would be honored. Am I to assume that you are King Bron?”

The man swells up with pride, sticking his protruding belly out further and beaming at them. “That I am, good sir. That I am.” He props his fishing pole on his shoulder and gestures towards the gates. “Follow me inside for a feast the likes of which you have never seen.”

The air is musty inside the castle, like it needs a good airing out, but Emma still holds hopes that they have better food than Camelot. She brings up the rear of their party and her eyes take in the huge tapestries across the stone walls and the suits of armor lining their path.

King Bron leads them into a dining room even larger than Camelot’s, though there are no inhabitants through its grand doors. He gestures that they should sit at one of the smaller tables running parallel to the head table at the end of the room, and he seats himself alone at the head table. Apparently he’s not going to wait for anyone to join them, because Bron claps his hands three times and the huge door he had closed behind them opens up again.

It isn’t food being brought in, however, but a strange assortment of junk being carted in by four adolescents. The first is a lanky boy with stringy red hair carrying what looks like a broken lance with blood dripping off of the end. The next is a plump girl with brown curls and a silver platter. Third is another boy, this one with white-blonde hair, a sombre face, and a huge sword almost as tall as he is. Finally, a miniscule girl with strawberry blonde hair down to her waist lugs in a golden chalice. They parade through the room with their weird stuff and exit out the door that the servers usually enter from, without a word.

“What the hell is going on?”

Emma hisses her words at Killian, seated on the other side of Percival, but it is the knight who gives her a look of parental disapproval.

“It must be a local custom, Emma. It would be impolite to inquire.”

Emma bites her lip. Percival is probably right, but she’s totally at a loss. This whole place gives her the heebie jeebies. She turns back to face their host, who is looking at them with a pasted-on sort of smile.

She clears her throat. “That sure was some cool stuff, Your Majesty,” she spits out, giving him her best fake-polite smile. His eyes widen. “What was all of that?”

Before the king can open his mouth to berate her or respond, a cool breeze whips through the dining room, and in a flash the space is filled with almost a hundred people, seated and standing and dancing, music playing merrily and the succulent scent of a feast making her stomach growl. King Bron stands and grins and starts applauding, all of the sudden occupants joining in as well.

“Shit, did we break a curse?” Emma mutters to the Jones men.

“My dear,” the king starts speaking and the clapping stops, all eyes and ears focused on the man now in a thick fur robe and with jewels on every finger. “For nearly a century I have been awaiting your arrival - someone to inquire about the hollows that are carried through the dining room every evening to keep me from perishing under a curse. It was only when the greatest knight in the realm asked the question that my kingdom could return to its former glory and I would be healed once and for all.” He holds out both arms toward her and Emma’s face goes red. “We welcome you with much rejoicing, Lady Knight.”

“I’m-” Emma struggles to find her voice. “I’m not a knight. I mean, not literally one.” She gestures to Percival. “This is the knight you are looking for.”

King Bron tuts and shakes his head. “A prophecy cannot be wrong, m’lady. If you were not a knight before, then you are certainly one now.” He claps three times again, and the four kids proceed out of the serving door, this time all looking significantly less glum. The lance isn’t dripping with blood any more, and the platter is filled with some kind of sandwiches. The kid with the sword hands it off to the king, and the rotund man gestures for Emma to come forward.

“Pray tell, what is your name, m’lady?”

“Uh, Emma. Emma Swan.”

The king smiles benevolently. “A lovely name to match your lovely face. Pray, kneel, Lady Swan.” Confused as hell, Emma drops to her knees and lowers her head like she’s seen in movies and that picture of Queen Elizabeth knighting Patrick Stewart. King Bron looks a little more handy with a sword than the diminutive woman in a powder blue outfit.

“I knight thee Lady Emma of the Swan,” King Bern pronounces in his deep, rich voice, the flat of his sword tapping her shoulders. “May you always be brave, defending all in need and performing the duties of your sovereign with courage and compassion.” He touches the sword to the top of Emma’s head and withdraws it. “Rise, Lady Knight.”

Emma stands to thunderous applause and turns back to her companions with a confused little shrug.

Two pairs of wide blue eyes stare back at her, both of them shocked by the sudden reversal and Emma’s impromptu knighting. And even though Emma knows that Killian wants to be knighted more than anything in the whole damn world, a smirk plays on the corner of his lips. He’s gonna give her hell for this.

“You have saved this kingdom, Lady Knight,” King Bron continues, quieting the crowd again. “How might we be of service to you?”

Percival stands and addresses the king directly. “We come on behalf of King Arthur of Camelot, Your Majesty. We are seeking something to heal his mortal wound and bring life back to the land. We had hoped that such an item could be found here, where you were once healed from injury.”

King Bron sighs and gestures for Percival to come forward. His son trails behind and wraps his arm around Emma’s waist and whispers, “Never have I seen a knight so fair, love,” making her whole face turn pink. She leans into his touch.

“It is true, the death curse inflicted upon me was reversed by the four hollows and their presence in my castle. But the price is steep and they carry a curse of their own - one only broken tonight after nearly a century.” Bron reaches forward and plucks the goblet from the little girl’s hands. “But if you take this grail and fill it with healing waters, I believe it could save King Arthur from any wound, provided it was nonmagical.”

The knight runs the back of his hand across his beard in thought, a movement that looks sweetly familiar, and finally nods. “Merlin believes that the blow was made by an ordinary sword. If you will allow us to take that grail, we will do so gratefully.”

Bron hands off the cup to Percival and nods, the movement a signal to the crowd that they can get back to partying.

“Wait.” Emma turns to the knight and places her fingertips on the rim of the goblet. “Is  _this_ the grail then?  _The_ grail?”

“Love.” Killian’s arm tightens around her and his smirk grows. “We have already told you.  _The_ grail was the one used to defeat the Darkness.” He holds up his hand to display the ring glinting on his finger, a stone that used to be filled with power and now, as ordinary as anything, glints in the candlelight clear as a diamond, drained of all magic. Its twin is on Percival’s hand and Emma has caught glimpses of the final ring tucked in one of the drawers on their room at Camelot.

“This is another sort of grail,” Percival continues.

“Although perhaps this grail is more similar to the stories of your childhood. That Indian Jones chap.”

“ _Indiana_ ,” Emma corrects with a smile. Killian only groans and leads her back to their table, for a superb dinner of non-potatoes and an evening of plotting their next step.

* * *

 

They do not leave at sunrise the next morning, although fairly close to it, and Emma is much more peppy after a full night of rest in a soft, warm bed. It probably helped that King Bron’s staff was insistent that an unmarried couple not room together, although Emma did miss Killian’s warm solidness holding her through the night. The kitchen staff fills their saddle bags with all sorts of tasty foods and Emma’s mouth waters at the thought that yummy treats might be available in Camelot again, if only they complete their quest.

Percival guides them on a new path, this time heading toward a fountain of everlasting life. This world sure seems to be full of all sorts of strange and magical things, but she’s learned in the last few years, after finding out she’s the kid of Snow White and Prince Charming, that its best just to go with things. They pass more people on this path. Maybe its the breaking of the curse on King Bron’s kingdom or maybe its just where they’re headed. But Emma kind of likes it. It makes their journey feel more like a quest in one of Killian or Percival’s storie. And it makes the  _knight_ thing seem more real.

Killian, though seems to have lost his sense of humor about the whole thing. Whenever they introduce themselves to strangers they pass on the road, Percival says that both he and Emma are knights, and Killian is his son. Once or twice Killian mutters something under his breath about being “a bloody Grail knight,” but then his dad gives him an exasperated look and Killian closes his mouth.

Its family drama and Emma’s never been good with that.

That evening, after they set up camp, Killian excuses himself to bathe in the pond through the trees, and Emma scooches closer to Percival uncertainly.

“Uh… Percival?”

“Yes dear?” The knight pokes at the fire with a stick and gives her a curious look.

“I’m probably not the best person to dole out parenting advice since most of my parenting experience comes from cursed memories, but maybe I think you should lay off your son a little?” The words come out in one breath and Percival gives her a very strange look, blinking for a moment before everything sinks in.

“Lay.. off?”

“Go easy on him,” Emma explains. “He really looks up to you and every time you call him out for acting like a pirate - which he was for a couple hundred years - he gets a wounded puppy face and its pretty sad to see.”

Percival looks stricken, his bushy eyebrows at his hairline and some color draining from his face. “I was-” he stammers, “I suppose I was just acting like his father again. But that was back when he was a boy.”

“Well. He’s not a kid anymore. And he lived a whole lot of years kind of being the opposite of everything you taught him. Maybe you can be more sympathetic to that?” Emma shrugs. “I bet if you paid attention you would notice what a good guy he is, even if he isn’t exactly a knight.”

He smiles and pokes at the fire again. “Believe me, Emma, that has not escaped my attention. Only a great man would have been able to help drive that darkness out of you. I will…  _lay off_.” The phrase sounds strange coming from the uptight knight, and Emma chuckles.

When Killian returns, Percival casually asks him to tell a tale of his days of piracy, and after only a moment of embarrassment, Killian launches into one of the epic stories Emma has heard him tell Henry. Percival laughs and sighs and praises his son so enthusiastically that Killian tells four more stories before they retire for the night.

As the final log fades to ashes, Percival winks at Emma across the campfire and mouths, “Thank you.”

* * *

 

The next day’s journey is the best of them all, the roads well-paved, the supplies from King Bron plentiful, and the weather just perfect. The only sour spot is all the people they pass on their path that warn them about the dangers of seeking the fountain flowing with water of immortality.

“It is guarded by a witch,” one man says, leaning against the mule he is bringing to market and giving them all looks of concern.

“A dragon appears if you dare disturb the waters,” cautions a young girl, holding her little brother’s  hand and using the sort of  _grown up_  voice she must use on the kid.

“It is just an ordinary woman who watches over it,” explains a crone, “but it is the ordinary ones that you should really watch out for.”

And so it is with not a small amount of anxiety that the three travelers approach an ancient fountain in a woodland clearing, water babbling gently down the marble carved with images of winding, curling branches. It doesn’t look like there is anyone nearby, but magic spikes in Emma’s veins, and she runs through all the spells that she knows in her head.

“Shall we?” Killian steps down from his horse and moves toward the fountain, grail in his hand. The other two follow right on his tail. He makes to dip the cup into the flowing fountain when he is stopped by a sword that appears seemingly out of nowhere.

“Not so fast, laddie.”

It is a knight, clad in vivid red armor that glows strangely in the midday sun among the greens and the browns of the trees. He’s a little shaky on his gangly limbs however, and when he pushes his visor up and reveals his wrinkled, gnarled face, Emma estimates he must also be about three hundred years old, but unlike the Jones men, he actually looks his age.

“I am the Red Knight, sworn to defend this fountain against all who come to seek it for their selfish gain.”

“Brave Knight,” Killian begins with a bow. “If that is so, then you must allow us to take some of this water. We do so not with selfish ambitious, but to save our fallen king, King Arthur, and in doing so restore the kingdom of Camelot from ruin.”

The Red Knight looks dubious. Emma waits a half a second for him to shout out, “ _Ni_!”

“It does not matter your intentions. I am sworn to protect these waters. I challenge whosoever comes to seek them to a duel. You can only take the waters if you beat me in battle.”

The three of them look at one another with a mixture of amusement and bewilderment.

“The lady will do it,” Killian interjects finally, giving Emma a playful eyebrow. “She is the newest knight of our party and she does enjoy a challenge.”

Defeating this old windbag is the exact opposite of a challenge. The real problem is gonna be how to do it without killing him. She glares at Killian.

 _Asshole_.

But Emma reaches for her sword all the same, wishing she had spent more time practicing in their time at Camelot. She is starting to miss the daily routine of running drills with Killian and her father. But Merlin had commanded so much of her time since her recovery that swordfighting had fallen by the wayside.

“Are you ready?” she asks cautiously, lifting her sword, The Red Knight nods, his visor falling over his face again, and holding out his own weapon.

Its not a close duel - not by a longshot - but it takes more time than Emma had first imagined. The geezer’s got some spring in his step, and he surprises her with a few choice blocks and a swipe of his sword that comes dangerously close to her torso. But pretty soon the old man is on his ass, looking up at her and the weapon pointed at the hollow of his throat.

“I surrender,” he wheezes. “My time has come to conclude my service. Forgive me, my lady.”

Emma opens her mouth to many offer forgiveness or ask him why he wants it in the first place, but she is cut off by a sweet voice coming from behind her. She turns in surprise to see a woman standing in the fountain, blue and white and green dress blending in with the flowing water. Her dark hair falls long across her shoulders and it remains as dry as her ebony skin.

“You have served me well, Sir Russell.” A gentle smile eases across her face and when Emma looks down at the Red Knight, he has relaxed a bit. “You may go now.”

Sir Russell stands and bows, retrieves his sword, and leaves the clearing.

Emms sheaths her weapon and looks at the new woman awkwardly.

“Uh.. Hello?”

“Greetings, my lady. You have fought valiantly. You have now won the ability to drink from the fountain and gain new life.”

Emma shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “We- uh- we have this grail?” She gestures toward Killian, who holds up the object in question. “Can we put some water in there?”

The woman smiles again. “That is a special grail. It will preserve the water as few other vessels can. If it is drank from within a fortnight, it shall heal all ills.”

“Awesome!” Emma grins and nods for Killian to fill the cup. When he has done so, she mutters an incantation to seal the top and keep water from falling out on their return journey. “Thanks so much-” Emma falters, “Miss. We’ll just be heading out-”

“Oh no.” The woman giggles, the sound like the fountain babbling behind her, and Emma freezes. She was afraid this was all too good to be true. “You have defeated my consort, Lady Knight. You are now the new guard of the fountain and my new consort. You must remain here.”

Emma’s eyes get so big she wonders why they don’t pop right out of her head and roll around the ground. She struggles to close her gaping mouth. “I- you- consort- guard?” The words come out one by one, as though she could process them better that way, but she barely spits them out before the two men behind her burst into laughter. She turns to glare at them, clutching one another and their sides as they double over in glee.

“I- I would have never-” Killian gasps, struggling to keep himself standing. “If I had known!” And then he dissolves into more laughter.

“I suppose your lass is stuck here!” Percival manages, clapping his son on the shoulder and setting them both off again. Emma glares and turns back to the weird water woman.

“Can’t you take either of them?” she asks. “Please.”

She shakes her head serenely. “That is not how this works, Lady Knight. Whosover defeats the champion is my guard and my consort.”

“Consort?” The word comes out as a squeak. “Like- lover?”

The woman nods and Emma gulps. She marches over to the guys and drags Killian forward.

“That’s all well and good, lady, but I already have one of those. We- well, we love each other, and I’ve never been big on cheating.”

She nods in understanding. “I know all too well the importance of love, Lady Knight. But I am bound to this fountain, just as the waters are bound to their own magic.”

“There’s no like.. bending the rules?”

The fountain woman gives her a sad smile. “No.”

Emma turns with a shrug to the two men. Wow, how many screwups can she get into in this realm? Plenty enough, apparently.

“If I had known,” Percival says, wiping a tear from his eye - a tear of laughter that is, “I would have volunteered instead. I am so sorry, Emma.”

She looks at Killian, whose fingers are still tangled up in hers, but he looks completely unconcerned about the whole thing.

“What?” she asks. “Are you gonna be glad to leave me behind here?”

“Not at all, love.” His brow furrows and he drops a kiss to her forehead. “But all we must do is obey the rules. A new champion is found when you are defeated in battle. Let us find a villager in search of love or a home and have them challenge you to a duel. When you are defeated, we can leave this place in peace.”

“Killian.” Emma smiles and leans up on her tiptoes to kiss his warm, soft lips. “You are a fucking genius.”

He winks.

The pirate goes off on his own to scrounge up a new champion. Emma and Percival trust him to put that silver tongue of his to good use, and they pass most of the afternoon resting in the quiet clearing and sharing awkward conversation with the woman. Emma’s not so sure how she would have lasted hundreds of years with the gal, because it is clear they have nothing in common.

Finally, Killian reappears with another woman at his side, this one with dark red hair and wide, scared blue eyes.

“This is Rowan. She has recently lost her family and is in desperate need of a loving home.” The woman gives Emma a tentative smile, and Emma can see her own past reflected in her eyes. She needs this badly.

“Hi Rowan,” Emma greets her with a smile. “Do you know how to fight?”

Rowan shakes her head. Emma looks back at the fountain maiden, who giggles behind her hand. “Uh,” Emma sets her sword down on the ground and steps toward the girl. “Know how to throw a punch?” She shakes her head again and Emma sighs.

She spends a few minutes teaching her how to make a fist and how to throw her weight, and then Emma takes a deep breath and commands that Rowan fight her if she ever wants to drink from the waters of rejuvenation.

Rowan actually throws a damn good punch. Maybe Emma should start teaching this stuff for a living.

Emma’s head is still ringing as she climbs back on her horse and the three of them take off into the sunset, back to Camelot with an actual grail this time, all ready to save King Arthur.

* * *

 

Even though they’re the ones who got the cup and the water, Merlin insists on being the one to revive the king, which Emma doesn’t mind so much because she’s sure she’d find a way to mess it all up anyhow. When Arthur appears at dinner that night, standing tall and strong, wrapping his arm around his wife and giving her the same dopey looks Emma has seen David give Mary Margaret a million times, she knows that everything is going to be alright here in Camelot.

It was all worth it.

“After such a quest was achieved, saving both myself and the kingdom, it would be customary for me to knight the brave individuals who did so much for Camelot,” Arthur smiles from the head of the table after the last of the food has been cleared away - the very last night of potatoes, Emma hopes desperately. “But I have been informed that Lady Emma has already been knighted by King Bron and to do so would be redundant.”

The gathered crowd titters and Emma’s face turns pink again.

“But there is a knighting that is well overdue,” Arthur continues. “A man who has performed many heroic deeds throughout the realms, and most notably headed the quest to drive out the Darkness once and for all. It was through his chivalry, bravery, and, most of all, his love, that any of us are here right now. Killian Jones, please come forward.”

Killian is shaking a little bit beneath the palm Emma places reassuringly on his shoulder. He gives her a tense smiles before standing from his seat and walking on wobbly legs across the dining hall and kneeling at the king’s instruction.

“I knight thee Sir Killian,” Arthur recites, his sword - the famous Excalibur - tapping Killian’s shoulders. “May you always be brave, defending all in need and performing the duties of your sovereign with courage and compassion.” His sword rest on the top of Killian’s head and then is withdrawn. “Rise, Sir Knight.”

The applause in this space is much quieter than at Emma’s knighting, but from the way Killian beams and how Percival looks ready to burst with pride and love, Emma would bet that nothing will ever top this moment. And when Killian bounds across the room and scoops Emma into his arms and kisses her until her lips go numb - a display of affection that his father probably disapproves of - Emma can only grin against him and kiss the hell out of him too.

After all, what’s a celebration without some inappropriate kissing?


End file.
